


Wrong

by coley_wog



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Kuron (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Kuron (Voltron)-centric, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Rating May Change, Scars, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) Has a Clone, Some Shallura in later chapters but it's not the focus, Strangulation, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-04-18 09:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14210172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coley_wog/pseuds/coley_wog
Summary: It's wrong.The scar is wrong.How can it be wrong?Why is it wrong?





	1. Scars

The scar is wrong. 

How can it be wrong? 

 _Why_  is it wrong?

 

_It’s your imagination._

 

No, it’s not. How many times had he stared in the mirror since the first time he’d escaped, getting used to a face he no longer recognized? The paled complexion, the bags under his eyes, the shock of white hair, but the scar had been the most jarring of changes. 

He’d studied it–the way it slightly dipped up on one side and extended farther down on the other, how thick it stretched over the bridge of his nose, every jagged edge and line, how it wrinkled when he made a face… 

And now it’s  _wrong._ All of it. 

And it’s not the only one. He hadn’t looked at his other scars as closely before, preferring to cover them up, but the discrepancies hadn’t escaped him. Many of the scars from minor injuries were completely gone. His left arm in particular had once been an ugly patchwork of scrapes and scratches, but now was clear of such marks. 

Then there were the scars he’d received during his time with Voltron. The Lichtenberg burns Sendak branded across his left shoulder and back, and the thin pale purple marks from Haggar’s claws had vanished as well.

 

 _They experimented on you. They must have healed them somehow._  

 

Maybe… That didn’t explain why the scars that remained weren’t quite right either. He could have sworn one scar or another used to be a millimeter more to the left, lower, shorter or thinner or thicker. Why heal them only to put  _some_  of them back in  _almost_  the right spot?

 

_Why do you think?_

 

…No, he… he’d been through a lot. Being recaptured was making him paranoid, jumping at shadows. The headaches weren’t helping either. After all, he still had all his memories, and Black had come for him. There’s no way it could be any other reason. He reassured himself but his still hands shook.

 

_They need you, you know._

 

That’s what Keith had said. He couldn’t afford to keep on like this; hiding away and hoping tomorrow he’d wake up to find his scars the way he remembers them, that the pounding in his head would go away. He grabbed the scissors and started cutting his hair.

 

_Hair far too long for the amount of time you’ve been gone._

 

He willed the thought away, but he couldn’t will his hands to stop shaking. When he cut his bangs too short, he threw the scissors aside with a frustrated growl and decided it wasn’t worth it to try and shave the sides straight. His reflection somehow looked even more a stranger than before.

 

_Whatever._

 

He changed his clothes, doubting his old outfit would fit him anymore in his still weakened state. 

 

_Whatever._

 

He strode out towards the bridge on shaking legs, the brightness of the hallway blinding compared to the gloom of his quarters. It did nothing to help the pain behind his eyes. 

 

_Whatever._

 

His team needed him, didn’t they? That’s what Keith had said, even though judging from the mission reports, they’d all adjusted well and were completing their missions just fine. 

 

_Whatever…_

 

It didn’t matter if his scars were wrong–if  _he_  was wrong–They were never right to begin with. With a forced smile, he stepped onto the bridge.


	2. The Black Lion

“Keith, I’m gonna need you to lead this mission.” 

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The Black Lion isn’t responding to me… It looks like you’re it’s true paladin now.” 

“I’m coming down.” 

_Isn’t this what you wanted?_

__

Of course it is. He’d always known what Keith was capable of. He’d been so proud Keith had fulfilled his wishes and exceeded his expectations during his absence. Keith was a better leader, a better pilot, a better  _person._ He deserved this.

Even now, Keith was looking to him for affirmation.  _You’re sure this is ok? Are you ok?_  The look in his eyes seemed to say as he hurried to the Black Lion, to his team. Shiro hoped his reassuring smile wasn’t as brittle as it felt.

_And yet you barely hesitated when Keith offered Black back to you._

He should have said no. Keith and the others had worked so hard to build this new team and he had no right to take that away. He didn’t want to, but Keith had offered… And he… 

He couldn’t resist the desire to wear the armor of a hero, to sit in Black’s cockpit and feel the thrum of power in the controls. Because nowhere in the universe did he feel safer, stronger, more in control,  _whole_ , than in the Black Lion. 

And he’d hoped that in a moment in time where he felt out of place in his own skin, flying Black again would be the one thing that felt right. 

But he’d felt  _nothing._  

_The scar is wrong._

This only confirmed what he already feared. Whatever the Galra did to him this time ran more than skin deep. The wrongness he saw on his face and felt throbbing in his skull had seeped into his soul, leaving him too broken to pilot the Black Lion. 

Or perhaps he’d always been too broken, and Black was just making do until it’s true paladin took up the mantle. 

_Do you really think a monster like you could be a Voltron Paladin?_

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He tore off his helmet and fell to his knees gasping. The helmet clattered to the floor and rolled away as he fought to take measured breaths. A minute or two passed before he got his breathing back under control. He glanced behind him, but the Black Lion had already taken off. Good. He didn’t need anyone to see him like this right now. 

Faintly, he heard the paladins’ voices over the comms of his helmet. The mission was well underway. He needed to go to the bridge; make sure it was going smoothly. Then he could help with… well, he didn’t know what, but there had to be something he could do. He’d figure it out. 

He started to leave, but stopped to retrieve his–the Black Paladin helmet. Cradling it carefully in both hands, he thought briefly of tossing it aside. Instead he placed it reverently on a nearby control panel before heading for the bridge. 

He should take off the armor too but there wasn’t time. He should give it to Keith. It was his by rights. 

But for now… He’d like to pretend a little while longer to be Shiro, a Paladin of Voltron, Defender of the Universe… before going back to just being… Shiro…


	3. Disconnect

Things had gotten better, he thought. Comparatively better at any rate. 

It hadn’t taken long for Shiro to find something else he could help the team with. He couldn’t pilot a lion or fly the castle or open wormholes. But with Allura on the field and Coran planning coalition meetings and events, the team needed a strategist. It was tedious work, going over reports from the Blade and various coalition members, reading star charts and planning strike paths, but things went more smoothly after that. It also helped that he stopped backseat piloting Keith. He simply pointed the team in the right direction, and let Keith’s skill and instincts handle unforeseen variables. It was what he did best, after all. 

They shut down important Galra supply lines, rescued refugees, freed planet after planet, and Shiro began to feel he had a purpose again. Even the headache was bearable (it never went away really, but he’d grown accustomed to it).

He was standing in his favorite observation deck, going over a report when he heard the door slide open behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He’d recognize Keith’s gait any day. He didn’t look up from his datapad, but smiled as Keith stood beside him. “Welcome back, Keith. Good work on the mission today.” 

Keith nodded but said nothing. Shiro spared him a glance and saw he hadn’t even changed out of his armor yet-- his  _red_  armor. “You know I washed the black armor. So you don’t have to worry about it smelling bad,” he joked with a sad attempt at laughter. Shiro had offered him the black armor on several occasions, only to be turned down. He tried not to let it sting that Keith would refuse to wear what he wished he could. 

Again, Keith said nothing. Shiro looked over, and this time noticed the tenseness in his shoulders, the way he worried his thumbs over his fists and the slight crease of his brow as he stared intensely at the window frame. Shiro quickly put the pad away and turned to face him. “Something on your mind?” He asked gently. 

For a moment, Shiro thought he wouldn’t answer, but he suddenly turned his intense gaze up to Shiro and blurted, “I think you should try again.” 

Shiro blinked. “Try...?”

“The Black Lion. You should try piloting it again.” 

Shiro’s face fell. “Keith.” 

“You only tried once...”

“Keith.” He closed his eyes, feeling the dull throb in his head grow more incessant. 

“If you tried again, and just gave it more time...”

“Keith, please don’t.” He raised a hand to his temple, but of course it did nothing to alleviate the mounting pain.

_Don’t give me false hope._

“Your bond is still there. I know it is!”

“Keith! Enough!” 

Keith shut his mouth, looking slightly taken aback. 

Shiro let out a deep sigh. He hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m sorry, Keith. But no.” 

“Why not?” Keith insisted, fists clenched so hard they shook. 

_Because there’s something wrong with me._

Shiro turned to look out the window. “The Black Lion chose you.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense! You’re so much better at this. And you love being a paladin more than anything.” 

Grimacing against the rising migraine, he took a deep breath to keep from snapping again. “This isn’t about what I love. This is about what’s best for the universe. The Black Lion believes  _you’re_  what’s best for the universe... and so do I.” 

Keith bit his lip and turned away. “I still think you should try again,” he muttered.

_Why? To remind myself of how broken I am?_

Shiro couldn’t help a tired bitter smile. “Heh. Stubborn. But really, there’s no reason for me to try so long as you’re around.” 

“Yeah, about that...” Keith said hesitantly. Shiro looked up to see Keith staring down at his dagger and fidgeting with it as he struggled to find the right words. “I’ve been talking to Kolivan, and he thinks he can help me find my family...” 

“That’s great!” Shiro said enthusiastically, even though he sensed an oncoming “but.” 

“But he said he’d have to train me as a Blade first...” Keith said, glancing up at Shiro. 

“....” Shiro blinked. This was the last thing he’d expected. “How long will that take?”

 _You can’t leave._  

“It would only be short espionage missions,” Keith added hastily. “We can schedule them between your missions.”

“Is it dangerous?”

_Without you, we can’t form Voltron._

“Kolivan will be there in person for all my missions, at least until I get the hang of it.”

Shiro took a deep breath. His head was pounding furiously now. He knew how important this was to Keith. All the same he wanted to tell him no. That the universe needed him, that the team needed him. His family had waited this long for him. They could wait a little longer. 

 _That’s not how a team works. People have to want to be part of it._  

“I know Voltron is important,” Keith continued, “but the Blade’s work is important too. And I... I think I can make a difference there and...” Keith faltered, averting his gaze

Shiro exhaled shakily and attempted a smile. “Keith, that’s... Alright, Keith. That’s great. Don’t worry. We’ll make it work,” he said, not entirely sure that they could. 

“Really?” Keith looked genuinely surprised by this answer. 

Shiro clapped a reassuring hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Of course. I know how important this is to you. Just... promise me one thing? Promise me you’ll still be there for your team?”

Keith smiled, looking more hopeful and happy than he had in a long time. “Yeah, I'll... I’ll try.” 

And despite all his doubt and uncertainty, Shiro felt more warmth in his heart than he had in a long time. That was good enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I'm on tumblr @janestrider


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank everyone who's commented and kudo'd this fic so far, and everyone who's reblogged and tagged it on tumblr. You're all the reason I can carry on with this.

Sleep didn’t come easy most nights. 

The scar on his nose messed with his nasal cavities and it took a lot of tossing and turning before he found just the right angle where he could breathe right. Between this and the constant headache, a restful sleep was near impossible, and resulted in stressful, nonsensical dreams--dreams that would shift each time he tossed or turned.

 

Hanging suspended by his wrists in a cave and he can’t breathe...

 

Toss.

 

Hanging suspended upside down in an escape pod, a piece of shrapnel biting into his leg... 

 

Turn.

 

Floating in a vat of pink liquid and he can’t breathe...

 

Toss.

 

Floating alone in a Galra fighter, with no more fuel or oxygen. He can’t breathe. He’s thirsty and hungry and it’s so cold...

 

Turn.

 

Taking shelter from the storm in the bones of some creature, huddling by a dying fire against the cold. He’s hungry and so so thirsty...

 

Then he’d wake up. He’d pull the blankets back from where they’d fallen on the floor and reach into the stash of food and water he kept in his room since his return. At this point it was still too early to get up and risk disturbing the others, so he curled up in his blankets to try for more sleep.

 

Running from a crab monster and calling for help but no one hears him...

 

Toss.

 

Chasing and calling after Voltron but no one hears him...

 

Turn.

 

Trapped in a cryopod watching his friends leave him one by one, until the only one left standing is himself, another Shiro staring him down inside the pod... 

 

Toss.

 

The other him is asking questions that he can’t quite make out. "I don’t know anything. Please let me go...”

 

Turn.

 

There’s a crack in the glass, caused by the other Shiro’s fist. A red light flashes as his double ejects him into space. The glass shatters. He can’t breathe and it’s so cold...

 

The blankets fell off again. So it would go until the small hours of the morning when his body had all the restless sleep it could take. 

 

Those were the good nights.

 

On the bad nights he fell into a deep sleep where the dreams were vivid and harder to escape. They always started the same. 

 

Wandering the halls of the Galra ship, hopelessly lost in the dark corridors until he comes across one brightly lit room. The intense lights made his eyes burn and his head pound. Still he drew closer and peered inside to find a table surrounded by Galra--sometimes druids, sometimes technicians-- and upon the table, lay himself. 

No, not himself. He knew that, the way one always knows wrong things with certainty in dreams. He knew the man on the table was another him, and not him at all. 

Then the Galra around the table would draw back and the darkened corridor widened around him. The lights grew blinding and howling crowds screaming for blood in their native tongues. The Arena, but instead of sand the ground was covered in snow, and above he could see the stars of a vast cold and hungry space. 

His double on the table rose, eyes bright yellow and grinning cruelly, and attacked. They fought for a long time, sometimes with swords, sometimes with their arms and the stars in the sky fell like snow around them. Always the Black Lion was there, sitting, watching impassively. Eventually, his double would fire black bolts from his hands while cackling at him with the witch’s voice, a voice so loud and close it made his head throb and his focus fail. 

And then his double had him by the throat, holding him suspended and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to call for help, but his voice was gone and no one heard him. He looked to the Lion, but it wouldn’t move. 

When he looked back, he found that he was the one holding the other Shiro up by the throat.

His double glared at him with gray eyes filled with fear and defiance, and below his eyes the scar was right. The scar was right; his hair was right. Everything about the double was right in all the ways he was not. He couldn’t move and couldn’t breathe as he watched his double-- _Shiro_ \-- struggle in his grasp, as  _Shiro_  called for help, as the Black Lion rushed to  _Shiro’s_  aid, its lasers powering up and destroying him. He couldn’t breathe and he was so cold. 

 

He always woke up in a cold sweat, head pounding, throat dry, blankets on the floor. 

_It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. It was just a dream. It’s not real._

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the memory of his double on the table kept resurfacing. Wasn’t that real? Hadn’t he seen that? 

_It wasn’t real._

Who knows what kind of experiments he’d been through and what drugs he’d been on? They messed with his head and as a side effect he’d been hallucinating. 

_It wasn’t real._  

But then he’d get up and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and the scar that didn’t sit right on his face. With a shuddering breath, he turned the mirror around. 

_It wasn’t real..._


	5. The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said there'd be Shallura in later chapters? This is one of those chapters. So fair warning if it's not your cup of tea. Thanks to everyone who's commented and kudo'd. You are my favorite people. <3 As always, my fics and other art can be found on tumblr @janestrider.

 

It was getting late. Time worked a bit differently on Olkarion, but he’d spent enough days working while the world grew dark around him to know it was past the castle’s version of midnight. He was exhausted and the garish bright screens did nothing for the throbbing in his skull, but tomorrow’s mission wasn’t going to plan itself. 

Refugee rescue missions were nerve wracking on a good day, but this one had a very narrow time frame to work with; not to mention no guarantee of Voltron. They had to time this perfectly between Galra scout patrols and supply runs, with tomorrow being their largest window for a while. The next one wouldn’t come around for weeks, and by then the refugees will have run out of supplies. With five lions they would have plenty of time to get everyone out, but with four… 

If Kolivan could be believed, Keith should be back before they started. But Shiro had come to learn that if there was anything Kolivan was optimistic about, it was how long it took to complete a mission. Shiro assumed the worst every time Keith was late, but there was nothing he could do about it except wait and hope. 

He’d been doing a lot of that lately, waiting. Waiting for his friends to come back from missions, waiting for intel, waiting for the right time to…

“Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” 

Shiro nearly jumped out of his skin. Allura was right next to him. He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn’t even heard the door open. 

He did his best to regain his composure and offered her a weary smile. “Evening, Princess.” Her long curls were down from their usual battle-ready bun and in place of a combat suit she wore her gown–the same one she wore when they’d first met. His heart rate suddenly picked up. He snapped his attention back to his interface and cleared his throat. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked it first,” she said with crossed arms and a raised brow.

“Can’t sleep. Too much work to do.” 

_Too many nightmares_

“Hm, so I see.” she said poking one of his many screens. 

“Okay, now it’s my turn. Why aren’t you in bed yet?” 

“Meeting ran a bit late. I just finished seeing the diplomats off.”

Oh right, that was today. “It go well?” 

“Oh yes, well enough. Everyone was quite excited about the coalition and the lions. They were disappointed they couldn’t see Voltron, but the new Olkari weapons and defense systems put them back in good spirits.” 

Shiro absently scrolled through one of his reports. “Mm, that’s good to hear.” 

“You should have been there, Shiro. Hunk made those delicious little blanketed pigs again.” 

He couldn’t help a small smile. “Sorry I missed it. I had a lot of mission stuff to go over for tomorrow.” 

Allura leaned in next to him to see his screens more clearly and Shiro’s brain short circuited. “That’s the refugee escort mission, isn’t it?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head, brushing billowy white locks against his shoulder. “I thought you finished planning that yesterday.” 

“I did, but…” It took him a moment to gather his thoughts back together. His heart was pounding so loudly, but if she heard it she didn’t react. “I thought we could use another backup plan… With only four lions and all.”

“You planned a backup too, remember?” 

“Yes, but it doesn’t hurt to have more than one.”

Allura sighed. “Shiro, please. You’re exhausted.”

“Just in case…” His hand reached for another file, but stopped short when Allura caught it in her own. His breath hitched and he glanced up at her soft gaze.

 

 

“I know how you feel, but you need to step away for a while. It’s what’s best for everyone,” she said with a knowing smile.

 

 

He stared dumbly as she said his own words back to him. He felt like his soul was trying to leave his body, both numb and tingly, heavy and light–like his hand in hers was the only thing keeping him from flying off into space or plummeting through the earth. What was wrong with him? He hadn’t felt like this since… 

_Since the first time you saw her_

No before that even. It felt like the world had changed around him and was a softer, warmer, brighter place than it had been a few moments before. His heart hammered in his chest and heat rose across his cheeks to his ears. For the first time since his escape, he saw the stars and did not think of the cold or hunger or death. They looked like how he remembered them in his youth, beautiful and full of hope and dreams; maybe because he saw them reflected in her eyes. 

It felt like falling in love for the first time. 

 

 

But that made no sense. He knew this wasn’t the first time he’d been in love with her, much less the first time he’d been in love ever…

But none of that mattered now. “Allura, I…” He said, voice barely above a whisper. And his heart raced at the realization that they were well and truly alone. The others were asleep. There was no Zarkon to interrupt them this time. He could finally say all the things he wanted to say–all the things he regretted not saying as he watched her slip away from inside the pod, when he heard her scream over the comms as the castle was struck, while he sat alone with his thoughts for a week in the galra fighter. But it was never the “right time.” Well, he wasn’t going to find a better time than now. “…I…”

“Yes, Shiro?” She said softly, anticipating. 

“I…” 

_The scar is wrong_

He froze, heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. 

No. No no no no no no. They experimented on him and changed the scar. It doesn’t mean anything. 

_The lion didn’t want you_

His stomach knotted. Maybe he wasn’t the man he once was, the one Allura chose to be the black paladin. But he could become better. He could heal. With her help, he could, if she wanted him. And the look in her eyes said she did, whether he was worthy or not. 

_The other Shiro on the table_

A dream. A hallucination. Not real. Not real! 

_Subject approved for Operation Kuron_

It doesn’t mean anything.

_What if it does?_

He couldn’t breathe. His grip on Allura’s hand tightened. 

 _Please don’t take this away from me too_  

“Shiro, you’re trembling.” Allura’s brows knit in concern. She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “What’s wrong?” 

_Please. I know this is real_

But if there was even the slightest chance his fears were justified… If he wasn’t who he thought he was… How could he take advantage of her believing he was someone he’s not? He loved her too much for that.

He took a shuddering breath and tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Allura, I’m not–” He blurted and cut himself off. 

 _Not what?_  

Not ready? Not sure? Not interested? Blatant lies. He’d been all those things since day one. He couldn’t hurt her or insult her intelligence with such lame excuses. 

Not worthy? True. Maybe he was worthy once, but if a “monster” like him couldn’t be a Voltron paladin, how could he be worthy of her. Would she buy that? She knew the lion rejected him, yet here she was still holding his hand–his Galra hand–like he was nothing to be afraid of. He fought the impulse to jerk it away from her. 

 _Not what?_  

Not himself… No, he had no proof. Just a feeling–a horrible sinking feeling that grew stronger every day. But who else could he be? If he told her that, she might think he really was overworked, paranoid, delusional, broken beyond repair, unfit to be even their strategist, and have him sent away to rest or get treatment. Even if it was for his own good, he couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t be apart from them again. He needed to stay, to be of use. This was his home, his family. 

“I-I’m not…” 

“Shiro!?” Allura’s eyes were wide with worry. She clutched his hand tighter and raised her other hand to his forehead. “You’ve gone so pale. Please, tell me what’s wrong.” 

_Everything_

This time he did pull away, removing his hand from hers. He trained his face to a stony cold mask and turned back to his work station. “I’m not… I’m not like you and the others, Princess.” Perhaps he couldn’t tell her what he feared, but he could tell her something. “I can’t pilot a lion, or fly the castle, or open wormholes, and I’m sub-par at computers and engineering. This,” he gestured to the maps and strategies and reports he’d reopened, “is all I can do right now to help, and I want to make sure I do it right.” 

He glanced her way and caught the hurt in her eyes. She opened her mouth to protest, perhaps to say something about how his place on the team wasn’t contingent on whether he was helpful or not. And maybe she and the others truly believed that, but he couldn’t. So he cut her off before she could start, “It’s late, Princess. You should get some rest for the mission tomorrow.” He used his best leader tone–solid, final– hoping it would prevent his voice from quavering. He kept his eyes focused on his interface and prayed she’d take the hint and walk away. He didn’t think he could handle saying anything harsher. 

“…I see,” she said softly, and his heart broke at the sorrow in her voice. 

_Don’t look at her_

“I’m sorry for interrupting you.” She masked her sorry with her usual professionalism and each word felt like a knife to the chest. 

_Don’t look or you’ll break. You’ll take it all back_

He wanted to.

“Good night, Shiro.” Her skirt rustled as she turned and left the bridge. 

He didn’t look up until he heard the door close behind her. With a shaky breath, he scrubbed his eyes and got back to work, trying not to think about her lingering warmth in his right hand. Just one more backup plan and he’d get some rest.


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see everyone. This chapter's been sitting in my drafts for a long time and I just now finished it up. Sorry, no illustration this time.

The mission went more smoothly than it had any right to. Allura refused to look at him during the briefing but she kept a professional demeanor. He tried his best to do the same at the risk of being colder than usual. If the others noticed anything off, they kept it to themselves. But seeing how things had been off for a long time without anyone mentioning it, that was nothing new.

The planet's magnetic field caused some interference on their comms, but he'd prepared them for it as well as the extra debris from a meteor shower. Many of the refugee shuttles were more damaged than anticipated, but he'd laid out a contingency plan for that. And so far there was no unexpected Galra movement in the area.

Still, he was relieved Keith returned partway through and was able to help, even if getting him into the Black Lion was like pulling teeth lately. Mission reports could wait. Lotor could wait. These people could not. Why couldn't he understand how time sensitive this mission was, how important it was for morale of the team and the refugees to have their leader present? Why did he have to pull rank to get Keith to listen to him...? 

_Maybe he knows_

The thought had crossed his mind more than once. He'd known Keith the longest. If anyone were to noticed something wrong, it'd be him. He'd hoped Keith would approach him about it, ask if he was ok, tell him he was acting strange, _something_ to prove he wasn't just being paranoid. It was possible Keith really hadn't noticed anything. He'd never been that perceptive of social cues, or maybe--

_He doesn't trust you_

A familiar feeling of dread coiled in his gut, the same feeling that kept him away from the Black Lion's hangar, that made him turn Allura down, and turn all his mirrors around. No, that can't be it. If he suspected Shiro was... compromised in some way, he'd have warned the others... wouldn't he? 

Unless he wasn't sure and joined the Blade to search for proof before he made accusations. Shiro's stomach lurched. If he hadn't skipped breakfast that morning he might've lost it now. 

For once he forgot about his headache, but only because his heart ached that much more. He was so tired. Tired of fighting with Keith. Tired of feeling helpless on the sidelines. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of being haunted by his own reflection. Tired of hurting himself and others. He turned to the main viewscreen and called up the Blade of Marmora.

 

* * *

 

 “Thank you for the briefing, Kolivan. Please keep us posted on this new quintessence.” Shiro’s response felt automatic and distracted even to his own ears. “And thank you for getting Keith back to us safely.”

“Of course,” replied Kolivan, “was there anything else?” Kolivan's eyes looked almost concerned. Was his distress that obvious? He certainly hadn't felt so emotional since before the garrison, before years of training and discipline taught him to keep his feelings under wraps. 

Shiro paused, brow furrowed and gaze averted. He’d been avoiding the question because he was scared to know the answer. But not knowing the answer was so much worse. “Yes,” he said slowly, carefully, measuring every word, “have you ever heard of an… Operation Kuron?” Even the words felt wrong on his lips. 

“Doesn't sound familiar. I’ll have to check our files. Where did you hear of it?”

“While I was captured… The second time… I think.” He swallowed hard at the memory of the purple lights, the needles, pink fluid filling his pod and filling his lungs. “At least, I remembered it after that.”

“Do you suspect it’s one of the Haggar’s projects? A weapon, like the Komar?”

“I… I don’t know…” Just talking about this was making him feel numb and lightheaded. Must be the sleep deprivation getting to him. “Just… If you find anything about it, please send it to me– _only_  to me. I don’t want to worry the others about it if it turns out to be nothing. But if it is something…” 

Kolivan eyed him for a moment, assessing, unreadable.

_You know something! Tell me!_

_No, don't tell me!_

After a brief eternity, the Blade leader finally answered, “You’ll be the first to know.”

fear and relief both welled in Shiro's heart. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Art by me and I'm on tumblr @janestrider


End file.
